Epilogue #2
I was alive. I had won. And the man holding me was giving me his undivided attention, exactly as I was.
Bastien released my nipple with a soft, wet sound. He dragged his open mouth down the center of my chest, tracing the line of my sternum. His large hand slid down my bare stomach, his broad palm warm against the sensitive skin left behind by the pregnancy.
He moved lower, grasping my thighs. His thumbs pressed into the soft flesh above my knees as he parted my legs, his broad shoulders settling between them. The cool air of the bedroom brushed against my center, but the relief lasted only a fraction of a second. Bastien dipped his head.
He pressed his mouth directly against my clit.
I cried out, my back arching off the mattress. The slick, wet heat of his tongue parted my folds with an agonizing focus. It moved in slow, deliberate strokes, each one pulling a desperate sound from my throat. The friction was perfect.
I let go of the sheets. I reached down, tangling my fingers into the thick strands of his hair to pull him closer.
He did not rush. He stroked me with his tongue, adjusting his rhythm with a focused, predatory patience. I dragged my nails across his scalp, my hips rising off the mattress to meet his mouth. The pleasure built into a frantic pressure.
I could not lie still. I needed the tension to finally break.
“Bastien,” I gasped, my voice fracturing in the quiet room. “Please. Stop making me wait.”
Bastien pulled back. He rested his chin against my inner thigh. He looked up the length of my body, his dark eyes glittering in the ambient city light.
“I’ve spent the entire day watching you across that room,” Bastien murmured, his voice a low, rough growl against my skin. “I am going to take my time.”
I tugged the strands of his hair, refusing to let him dictate the rhythm.
“I don’t want you to take your time,” I said. “I want you inside me. Right now.”
He shifted his weight, pulling back just enough to break the contact.
He dragged his slacks and dark boxer briefs down his muscular thighs and kicked them aside, leaving the garments pooled near the footboard.
He moved back up my body, bracing his towering frame on his forearms to keep from crushing me into the sheets.
“Wrap your legs around me,” he whispered, his chest rumbling against my collarbone.
I lifted my knees, locking my ankles behind his lower back. The city light cast long, shifting shadows across the corded muscles of his shoulders. He shifted closer, settling his hips between my thighs. He pushed forward, piercing me with one long, demanding thrust.
My breath hitched, my fingers abandoning their grip on the sheets.
The stretching fullness drove away any lingering thoughts of the Stanton estate. The paralyzing terror of the safehouse burned away beneath the blistering heat of his skin against mine. I reached up, my fingers gripping the hair at the nape of his neck.
“Yes. Just like that,” I breathed, arching my hips to meet him.
Bastien found a deep, driving rhythm. Our bodies slid together, our skin growing slick and damp with the rising heat.
The harsh, ragged sound of his groans mingled with the soft rustle of the tangled sheets.
The ambient chill of the room provided no relief against the mounting friction.
I dug my short nails into the broad expanse of his back, holding him tightly against me.
“Look at me, Cecilia,” Bastien commanded, his breath hot against my cheek. “Keep your eyes on me.”
I forced my eyelids open. The dark edges of the room blurred, leaving me entirely focused on the sharp line of his jaw and the fierce heat in his gaze.
“I’m looking,” I cried out, my voice breaking in the heavy air. “God, Bastien, don’t stop. Right there.”
He adjusted his angle, driving deeper. “I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”
The overwhelming sensation built until the rest of the world completely fell away. I gave up trying to speak, letting out a guttural cry as the tension finally shattered. The climax crashed through me in blinding waves, cementing the absolute certainty that I belonged right here by his side.
I lay tangled in the twisted sheets. The frantic heat of our bodies cooled into a comfortable dampness as the sweat dried on my skin.
I rested the side of my face against Bastien’s bare chest, listening to the deep, steady cadence of his breathing.
My limbs sank into the plush mattress as the last lingering tension finally bled out of my muscles.
I did not need to scan the shadows or map the exits in this room.
Bastien wrapped an arm around my waist to pull me closer.
His calloused fingers traced slow, lazy circles on the bare skin of my hip.
Beyond the towering glass, the faint, distant hum of tires on asphalt drifted up from the city streets.
I closed my eyes, soaking in the quiet of the bedroom.
A genuine smile settled on my face as the last shadows of the Stanton estate finally faded.
My thoughts briefly drifted to the distant federal cells holding Tobias and Lavinia. They were permanently confined, stripped of their country-club status and erased entirely from the empire my father built. I let out a long breath, reveling in the absolute finality of it.
I opened my eyes and brushed the edge of a faded scar on Bastien’s collarbone. The silence stretched between us, rare and unburdened.
“Are you okay?” Bastien asked. His voice was a soft rasp against my cheek.
I tipped my head back to look at him. His dark eyes reflected the distant city lights. His gaze held an absolute, unguarded openness.
“I have never been better in my life,” I answered, smiling against his skin.
He stopped the slow tracing of his fingers on my hip.
He shifted his weight, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look down at my face.
The lethal edge he carried through the city was completely absent.
He looked at me as an equal, fully aware of the ruthless survivor I kept hidden.
He reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair away from my forehead.
“Well, then,” Bastien murmured, his thumb grazing my temple. “Maybe you’d consider sharing that life with me. Forever.”
I let the words settle in the quiet room. The question held none of the manipulative weight I was used to. It was entirely his to ask, and mine to answer.
“Will you marry me, Cecilia?”
I reached up and cupped the side of his face. His rough jaw rasped against my palm. I looked at the man who had stood behind a closet door and trusted me to spring a lethal trap.
“I thought you’d never ask,” I whispered. “Yes, Bastien. Yes.”
He leaned down and kissed me, sealing the promise in the stillness. The ghosts of my past were gone, and for the first time in my life, I wasn’t afraid of what came next. I rested secure in Bastien’s arms, entirely intact and finally safe.